


That Would Be Enough

by suburbantimewaster



Category: Aladdin (2019)
Genre: F/M, Forbidden Love, Pregnancy, Reader Insert, Secret Marriage, Secret Relationship, Song Inspired, request
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-28 22:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21399940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suburbantimewaster/pseuds/suburbantimewaster
Summary: You just received word that your husband, Jafar, has been temporarily sent home from the war and you have wondrous new for him.  Would it be enough to convince him to stay, or will he still go back to fight for Agrabah?
Relationships: Jafar (Disney)/Reader
Comments: 2
Kudos: 35





	That Would Be Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [accio-boys](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=accio-boys).

> This was a request for vizierofwonders on TUMBLR by accio-boys but, since she wasn’t interested, I decided to take up the project. The inspiration for this fanfic was the song That Would Be Enough from the Hamilton Broadway play. If you recognize it from Aladdin, I don’t own it.

You were in your bedchambers looking over your letters from your husband, Jafar, who was fighting for Agrabah while you were safe at your estate. You missed him so much and prayed to Allah that he would return to you safely. Sometimes you even longed to be a nurse on the battlefield again, healing wounded soldiers while stealing moments with your husband in private. You would give anything just to see him again. A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts.

“Come in,” you said, hastily putting the letters away.

You breathed a sigh of relief when Fatima, your handmaiden, walked in. “My lady,” she greeted with a curtsey.

“How many times must I tell you to call me (Y/N)?”

“Forgive me, my lad- (Y/N),” she said, looking down at the letters in her hand.

“More letters from Ahmed,” you said, letting the bitterness show in your voice.

“Unfortunately yes,” Fatima told you, handing the letters to you.

You skimmed through the letter, seeing the same garble about how angry he is at the servants for not obeying his every whim, how superior he is to others because he happened to be born a noble and how he longed to make your union official with a marriage. It was something both he and your parents desired. You smiled as you imagined their expressions when you finally revealed to them that you were already married, and to a street rat no less. You peeked at Fatima’s face to see that she was also smiling.

“I take it you have also skimmed the letter.”

“I would never read your mail!” Fatima said, sounding almost shocked. “However, I do have a letter that you will be quite happy to read.” Fatima handed you another piece of parchment. “It’s from your husband.”

You grabbed the letter and read this one more thoroughly. In it, Jafar told you that he was injured and sent to Agrabah to recuperate, how much he longed to see you and how it pained him that your marriage had to be kept secret. Your smile grew wider as tears of joy streamed down your face. “Jafar came back to me,” you told Fatima quietly.

“This is excellent news!” Fatima exclaimed and then lowered her voice. “Will you go off to see him?”

“I have to,” you said, putting a hand on your stomach. “If I want to tell him the good news.”

* * *

You dressed yourself in common robes, snuck out of the estate and then walked down the streets of the bustling marketplace, your nose assaulted by the smell of freshly baked bread, pistachios and jam while some vendors tried to sell you their wares. You paid little heed to them as you remembered when you first met Jafar. You were tending to some of the wounded soldiers when one of them made a drunken pass at you. Jafar saved you from the soldier’s poor seduction techniques and you were instantly smitten with him, making excuses just to see him. Jafar was a bit wary around you due to his status as a street rat while you were a noble but you eventually made him see that his status didn’t matter to you. You started a secret relationship with Jafar, stealing kisses from him in private and sneaking romantic times with him. Then you received that awful letter from your parents telling you that they had selected a fiance, Ahmed, for you to wed and requesting that you come back home to meet him. You were devastated at being torn away from him, but the two of you married in secret so that you would always be a part of each other’s lives, despite the distance.

You finally made your way to the doctor’s quarters. “May I see Jafar?” you asked him.

“I’m terribly sorry, ma’am, but I can not allow a stranger inside,” the doctor told you.

“I am not a stranger,” you insisted. “I am his wife.”

“She is,” Jafar’s voice said from inside the quarters.

The doctor let you in and you rushed to your husband’s bedside, his perfect torso covered with bandages. You kneeled by his side, touching his cheek with your hand. “My love!” you cried out. “What happened?”

“It was a trap,” Jafar explained weakly. “They were waiting for us in ambush.” Then he chuckled. “I’m actually one of the lucky ones.”

“Don’t joke about such a thing!” you snapped. “I didn’t like seeing you injured on the battlefield and I certainly don’t like it now.” You gave him a soft kiss on the lips, feeling your stomach turn from either your condition or from seeing your husband so weak. “My only consolation is that you’ve come back to me.”

“Only for a short while,” Jafar told you. “As soon as I’m all healed up, I’m going back.”

You gasped and then glared at the man lying on the bed, removing your hand from his cheek. Had he not been so injured, you would slap him. “You can NOT be serious!”

“I am more serious than I have ever been.”

“Jafar, I have spent weeks worrying about your well-being, dreaming of the day you would return!” You insisted, taking his hand in your own. “Having to humor my parents about being engaged to Ahmed when I am already married to you.”

“Your parents will never accept me,” Jafar insisted, the bitterness in his voice unmistakable. “Not when they’ve already picked out your oh so wonderful Amir.”

“ They  picked Ahmed,” you reminded him. “ I  picked you.”

“And we both know that, as soon as your parents discover this, they will force a divorce,” Jafar pointed out. “Either that, or plot to have me murdered.”

“Then they would be murdering the father of their grandchild,” you told him as your eyes narrowed.

Jafar blinked, at a loss for words. “You mean you’re…”

“Yes,” you told him looking into his eyes. “I am with child.”

Jafar looked at you as if he were seeing a different woman and then spoke with a newfound determination. “Then I have to return.”

“No, you don’t!” You insisted. “You can stay here, we can come clean about our marriage, we can raise our child together!”

“In case you forgot, I have no money!” Jafar pointed out. “Where are we going to live, on the streets stealing food to survive?”

“I don’t care where we live as long as we can be a family!” You said, squeezing his hand. “As long as we love each other and the child we brought into this world, it’ll be enough.”

Jafar gave a condescending laugh, looking at you as if you were a naive child. “That’s a nice little fantasy you have but, in the real world, you need money to live.”

You felt tears form in your eyes as you yelled at him. “I am not foolish!” you insisted. “I am well-aware that things cost money!”

“You grew up in a beautiful estate where servants waited on you hand and foot!” Jafar pointed out. “You have no idea what it’s like to live in the middle of nowhere, not knowing where your next meal is coming from!”

You let the tears roll down your narrowed eyes. “Maybe I don’t know what you’ve gone through and I couldn’t begin to understand it, but I do know one thing,” You insisted. “Our child needs its father!”

“Our child needs food and shelter!” Jafar argued back. “Neither of which I can provide!”

“If food and shelter is the issue, then I can take a small fraction from the estate!” you told him, squeezing his hand. “And I’m sure that being a soldier gives you a modest income. We can start our own trade, have a house, live a modest life.” You gave him a pleading look. “You won’t have to go back to being a street rat.”

Jafar gazed at you as if he wanted to cry. “How can I be happy to provide only a modest life for you?” he asked, cupping your cheek. “When you deserve so much more.”

“I don’t need an extravagant lifestyle to be happy,” you told him, caressing the hand that was on your cheek. “Only you.” You gazed into his eyes. “And, the longer you stay away, the more my heart aches.”

Jafar stayed silent as he gazed at you intently, almost as if he were considering your words. “Come here,” he ordered.

You climbed into bed with him, laying your head on his strong chest as Jafar wrapped his arms around you. “Remember how I told you I became a soldier?”

“You were drafted by the Sultan of Shiribad,” you answered, taking in his intoxicating scent. “He said that, if you helped fight in the war, he’d pardon you for your crimes.”

“Now the Prince of Agrabah asked me to fight by his side,” Jafar informed you. “If I show him my loyalty, he could grant me an estate.” Jafar laid a soft kiss on your forehead. “I could provide for our child and give you the life you deserve.”

You laid in the bed knowing that, sooner or later, the doctor would arrive and make you leave but he would have to pry you from Jafar’s arms with a crowbar. “You’ve given me more than you could ever know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Well, what do you think? Truth is, ever since I came up with Jafar’s headcanon in Desert Rose, I’ve had a similar idea to this about a reader-insert character being a nurse and tending to Jafar’s wounds. Now I finally have an excuse to execute it somewhat.


End file.
